


The Ruthless Simcoe

by HamHamNeedsToChill



Series: The Sides Of Simcoe [1]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Gen, Loss of Sanity, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamHamNeedsToChill/pseuds/HamHamNeedsToChill
Summary: Simcoe has finally snapped, and is on a rampage, killing every rival he's had. But not quickly, oh no; he's going to take his sweet time, and savor the screams."You're wasting your breath. You're going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm in no hurry." He grins mischievously, letting go of Abe's hair and circling him. "You really think I'm going to let my prize go as soon as I've captured it?" John laughs softly.
Series: The Sides Of Simcoe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928137
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	1. Weasel In A Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something like this, so not everything will be perfect. But that's the point. It's a break from writing smut.

Setauket. A quiet little town, as it was. Well, aside from redcoats occasionally walking by, the odd murmur or two not far behind. The hustle and bustle of the town usually came around noon, when everyone was awake, and even then it was hardly busy. John Graves Simcoe, however, was likely the most cause of action, especially as of late. Causing a ruckus, supporting it, or watching subtly in the background while it happened around him.

He loved chaos, in all honesty. The rush of adrenaline, the way people reacted to it. He of course didn't see it as chaos, he saw it as ridding the town of filth. Terminating all the pests that hadn't been exterminated the first time. Unfortunately, there was one that he could never seem to fully take down. A sneaky, scheming, clever little man, called; Abraham Woodhull. The very name made his blood boil, and his jaw clench. This one man always found a way to foil him, escape him, or interfere. And by god, if Abraham was going to die, it was going to be by his hand. He swore it. He would look deep into his brown eyes, and plunge his blade into his heart. He would watch this man's life fade from his eyes, and feel his breath still in his hands.

That was his passion. And he knew it.

Today, he would confront him, and tell him what he really thought of him, and perhaps, let him panic for a few days before he decided to kill him. He loved to play this cat and mouse game. Seeing the fear Abraham so desperately tried to hide. It filled him with a sense of pride that he could take control of his emotions.

***

Simcoe rode on his horse proudly, done up in his clean Queen's Ranger uniform. The green was a much better color on him, and he honestly loved it; though he would never say so. He eyes the empty field, wondering when Abe would plant his new crop. However, he supposed it wouldn't matter. The man would be dead soon.

Abraham, having heard his horse's hooves trodding on the ground from inside his cabin, had poked his head out of the doorway, peeking at him. Simcoe almost let his lips part in an amused smile. He thought Abraham looked like a little weasel, poking its head out of its burrow, or whatever hole they decided to nest in. The same little nose, turned up in the air, sneaky, deceitful. He knew one of the next things Abraham would say, would be a lie. He had listened to Abe lie, and he was admittedly good at weaving stories. But Simcoe was skilled in the same art, especially seeing right through the deceitful webs anyone could possibly weave.

Simcoe walked up to the cabin, arriving at the door with just a few long strides. He was an imposing figure, and he acted as such. The Captain could see Abe's jaw clench with worry, and his brow furrow. He felt excitement rise in his chest as he saw the rising discomfort he was causing Abe.

"Something the matter, Woodhull?" He asks, a hint of a tease in his tone. Abe was clearly disturbed by Simcoe, how cold and monotonous his voice could be. The curious loftiness it had was unnerving, especially when he was cheerful. Somehow even when he was happy, his tone sent chills down his spine.

"Nothing more than usual." Abe responds simply, trying to avoid Simcoe's intense gaze as the mountain of a man stepped into the cabin, and made himself comfortable, as if he was a common visitor. This of course made Abe's blood run cold, he hated this man.

Those damn eyes of his. They seemed to bore into his very soul, searching for every thought, every clue to what he was hiding. They were a saturated glacial blue, fierce, and reflecting the cold depths of his heart. They were deeper than the ocean itself, and many wondered what he was keeping secret deep in his soul.

Simcoe thinks for a moment, studying Abe. He suddenly found himself wondering what the little weasel thought of himself. Abe was coincidentally thinking the exact same thing. The Captain swallowed before he spoke, to make certain his voice was clear.

"I apologize for not greeting you formally today, but I had a question I wanted to ask you Woodhull." He says curtly, staring down at Abe like he usually did, cold, hard, unfeeling. Abe stared back, not wanting to turn down Simcoe's question. He nods quickly, not really wanting to say anything. Not that he had much to say; nothing that wouldn't get him in trouble anyway.

"How do you see yourself, Woodhull?" He asks, tilting his nose up indignantly. Abraham was surprised that he had asked the same question he had wanted to ask.

"I see a dedicated father, and son. Loyal to the law, and the King." He says, hiding his deceit well. Or so he thought. Of course- there was little to be had in the way of proof if Simcoe wanted to reveal Abraham as a spy. The Captain tilts his head, somewhat amused.

"I suppose I can see that," He admits dryly, giving pause before adding: "but I also see a traitor to the crown, and an adulterer." Simcoe says sharply, venom on his tongue. "But... I will give you some credit for the dedicated father detail." He compliments, even though it didn't sound like he meant it. Abe scoffs.

"Oh- I was unfaithful once!" He huffs, his brow lowering in anger. Simcoe tilts his head slightly in a disbelieving nature. Abe huffs, but calms himself enough to continue: "At least you agree that I'm a good father." He thinks for a moment, studying Simcoe's expression, now remembering that he wanted to ask the exact same question. "And how do you see yourself, Simcoe?" He asks, waiting expectantly for Simcoe's response. John actually answered rather quickly, clearly he had thought on this question.

"I see a lover, with a passionate side for the thrills and perils of war. A fearless man that fears no man weaker than himself. A soldier with a big heart, to put it simply for you." He let a small smirk slip. Abe huffs, knowing the way he had phrased his response was a direct attack on him. Saying that he was weaker, and an idiot. That much was clear. Abe growls, losing his temper.

"I hate you." He admits, his lips parted in an angry snarl. He hated being insulted, even more by the scheming prick named John Graves Simcoe. This man had always done everything he could to bring him down, injure him, perhaps even kill him. Simcoe scoffs, rolling his eyes; hardly at all. But the Captain's face was so often expressionless, one little change said everything anyone needed to know.

"The feeling is mutual, Woodhull." Simcoe spat, almost as if Abraham's name was an insult of the worst kind, and was bitter on his tongue. Their eyes locked intensely for a second before Abe looked away, turning around to calm his nerves. Simcoe smirked, seeing this as a small victory over him. Abraham could feel Simcoe's sharp gaze on his back, and that awful smirk tugging on his lips. He huffed under his breath.

"Bastard. Just wants to see Anna out of her dress..." He mutters to himself under his breath, hating the Captain's ego, and hating him. Simcoe however, was far from losing his hearing, and actually had heard Abraham quite well. He stepped closer to Abraham, closing the distance with a single stride of his long legs. Frustration rose in his chest, hot and burning.

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, an angry growl in his voice as he roughly turned Abraham to face him, keeping a small distance between him and the farmer. Abraham, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery, decided to tease the Captain.

"Oh, was just reminiscing over seeing Anna, completely in the nude, natural. And I look back fondly on the way she admired my body." He says with a smirk. Simcoe felt anger boiling, his ears starting to burn hot. The urge to lash out and maul this conniving, shrewd little man, was getting stronger with every moment he was breathing. That would stop when he was dead. He knew Abe was toying with him, trying to show jealousy, and he hated the fact that it was getting the exact effect Abe had hoped for.

"You're trying to make me jealous, and admit I am but-" Simcoe's blood burned fiercely as he was suddenly cut off by Abe with yet another witty and piercing comment, this time a question.

"What do you want from her, hm?" He asks jokingly, knowing very well that this was a dangerous game he was playing. He knew Hewlett would know if he was murdered, and his father would likely point a finger directly at the Captain. Simcoe knew he couldn't kill this little rat, especially not in his own home. Simcoe wanted to take his bayonet and plunge it deep into his chest, slowly creeping closer to him.

"I wish with every beat of my heart that I could love her, and that she would love me back." He growls, his voice taking on a very dangerous tone, familiar to Abe. If he wasn't careful, he would be dead in the next ten seconds, even if the threat of court martial hung over Simcoe's head. They were incredibly close now, Abraham almost backed up completely against the wall. Their breath was intermingling between them, hot and stuffy.

"And I think you're just after what's under her dress. You're a lustful bastard without empathy or compassion!" He spat, taking a step back, or at least attempting to. His back hit the wall, and Abe felt the cold, certain sense of dread that could only come with impending danger. Or, he feared, death. Simcoe saw red, grabbing Abe by the shirt and pinning him against the wall firmly. The insult to his pride had been deep, and it wounded his heart. He could make this man pay. He had Abraham exactly where he wanted him.

There was a pause. For a moment, the only thing either of them heard was their breath.

Abraham's was quick, shallow, and fearful.

Simcoe's was slow, heavy, and angry.

Simcoe could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears. Like a volley of gunfire. It was deafening. He could feel every pulse of his muscle, the air filling his lungs. He could smell the fear on the conniving little bastard he held by the collar. He could see the terror in his eyes, and how he tried to wriggle free from his grip. His taste for blood hadn't been sated for a while, and he craved it with every fiber of his being. 

Abraham made an attempt at escaping one more time, trying to push Simcoe off, punching and kicking where he could. Simcoe gritted his teeth at the searing pain that flared up where Abe struck, growling as he grabbed Abe's shoulders and slammed him into the wall, his head knocking against it sharply. He did it again, Abe's head falling forward limply. Somehow he was a little disappointed that he was unconscious. He wouldn't see his expression twist with fear, or hear his voice beg for mercy. Nor would he hear Abraham lie. He loved it when this infuriating man tried to lie. It was amusing to him, hearing his sometimes frantic voice scrambling to give him an answer or a well crafted fabrication. Oh well. He would simply wait for him to wake up.

He dragged Abraham over to the empty chair by the table, setting him up in it. He almost smiled at how ridiculous he looked, his head still dangling forward. He wandered around the house, looking for something to tie Abraham up with. He sighed as he couldn't find any rope. He would have to make do with some shirts he found in the dresser. It would be enough to tie him down, but he wished there was something of higher quality. 

As he settled in and tied Abraham down, he could really get a good look at him. His hair had been mussed by the struggle, and there was a little blood trickling down the back of his neck; but he was alive. His breathing was soft and slow, matching his gentle heartbeat. He could see it through his neck, the flesh moving ever so slightly with each pump of blood through his unconscious body. He noticed the Farmer had quite the impressive physique, thin and lean, but also incredibly toned and strong. It certainly felt like he could pack a punch from how he struggled. The spot on his stomach still ached with pain. He stepped away from his work, getting an eyeful with a subtle grin on his face. Soon he would be awake, and the fun could start. Oh, he had waited far too long for this moment. Finally he had Abraham trapped, pinned down, with no escape. There was nothing he could do to stop his fate from catching up with him.

Now, was the trouble of what to use. There were plenty of things that would end his life quickly and efficiently in the house. Guns, knives, his own bayonet, a fire poker, amongst other things. He knew how to kill quickly. A quick slash to the throat, a stab through the heart or a bullet in the same place. Perhaps a bullet to the head if he was really in a hurry. But the art of using these items, was how to slowly drain someone's life. How to make them feel as much pain, and anguish as possible, without letting their life ebb away too quickly. 

Savoring other's agony was his favorite thing in the world next to sex and romance. He wanted desperately to hear this poor man's screams, and watch his demeanor slowly calm as his blood pooled at his feet. He would not be merciful. He would be the reaper of this man's life. Death was Abe's destiny. It was only a question of when, and how. Simcoe had simply taken control of that factor. 

It would be soon, and by his hand alone.

Simcoe watched as Abe stirred slightly. He didn't seem to be fully aware he was awake yet, groggily lifting his head and looking around. His vision blurred, his head was spinning; a sharp pain on the back of his skull was making it hard to think. His hearing hadn't quite kicked back in yet, and it was near silent for Abraham, even as John called out to him while he took off the top portion of his uniform, including the shirt.

"Woodhull, don't go back to sleep, it's not bedtime yet." The Captain purrs, grinning as he pulled up another chair and sat in front of Abraham. The Farmer looked up slightly, slowly realizing this wasn't a dream. This was real. The tight bonds fixing him to the chair, and the man seated before him was real. This was happening. That was Simcoe's voice. The fear only made his head spin worse, and he felt like he needed to throw up.

"S-Simcoe..." Abe managed to speak, still struggling to regain focus and stop the motion in his head. Simcoe smirks, standing and walking over to Abraham. The tension in Abe's throat only grew with each heavy footstep of Simcoe's boots. Dread had set in, making the fear paralyzing.

"Abraham." Simcoe responded, grabbing Abraham's hair and pulling his head back, tilting it so they could see each other. A smirk curled the Captain's lips as he saw the man's brow was furrowed with fear. He could see it in his eyes; Abraham was pleading with him, begging him not to kill him. He almost laughed as the farmer had the gall to speak.

"D-Don't kill me! There's no point, you're just putting y-yourself at risk!" Abe exclaimed, trying to convince Simcoe to turn away from his captured prey. The Captain yanks on Abe's hair, delighting in the hiss of pain Abe sucked through his teeth.

"You're wasting your breath. You're going to die, and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm in no hurry." He grins mischievously, letting go of Abe's hair and circling him. "You really think I'm going to let my prize go as soon as I've captured it?" John laughs softly. Abraham huffs, tears of anger and fear in his eyes.

"You're a monster!" He yells, gritting his teeth. The Captain glared at the smaller man for a moment, stopping by his side. He steps closer and grabs Abraham by the jaw, digging his fingers into the soft flesh. Abraham winced at the sharp pain of his nails threatening to break skin.

"I may be. But there's a heart beating inside me that wants the same thing you do." Simcoe began, tilting his head slightly as he leaned in close. "To love. And to be loved." He says softly, his nails scraping Abe's skin as he released him aggressively. His voice was lofty as usual, almost as if he was talking to a child. Abraham swallowed, looking up at him fear and anger. His eyes welled with tears, the realization that he was going to die was rooting itself deeply in his mind. His head tingled with dread, prickly and painful. This was true fear.

"I want to live. I have a family, a lovely wife and a wonderful son... S-Surely if you have a heart-" He voice died in his throat, and he swallowed again. "You would just let me go and we could forget this ever happened." He pleaded, tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked up at Simcoe. "Please... Don't make my son go without his father." He begs, his brow furrowed upward.

Simcoe could see his heart beating in his chest, hard and fast. He wanted to live. How unfortunate, his request would not be granted. He had chased this moment for a long time, hoping it would present itself. And finally, his chance had come. Simcoe hums, walking over to the table again and picking up a fire poker. He tested the weight of it in his hand, making Abe flinch away from him.

"I don't think you know much about me... Do you?" He turns to Abe, waving the poker around as he spoke with his hands. It amused him to see how afraid of pain Abraham was; flinching with every movement of the object in his hands. "My father never cared for me. Cared more about the poor mongrels of Bengal than his own son. He was a medic at Fort William... I rejoiced when he died, however distraught my mother was about him." He explains, bringing the poker down onto his own hand firmly, catching it each time while testing the weight of it. He could hardly hide the smirk at the pain that tingled in his hand from the metal hitting the bones. This would easily break him. One quick swing to the head would kill him. No- go slow; he told himself. He wouldn't get this scenario again. He would have to savor it.

"So you see, not having a father won't kill the boy. In fact it may even make him stronger." He says. Anger flared viscously in the smaller man's eyes, taking Simcoe by surprise.

"He won't be anything like you! He'll have a goddamn soul and feelings! He'll have a heart!" He growls. Simcoe felt raw anger rise in his chest. How dare Abraham insult him. He expected it, most would call him names before they suffered by his hand. He raised the poker and slammed it down against Abraham's hand, shattering the bones likely damaging all the nerves. Abraham screamed and howled with pain, cursing through gritted teeth as he pulled against his restraints. Simcoe grins, watching Abraham cry out with agony, his hands clenched into fists.

"You pay a steep price for opening your mouth Woodhull. If you do open your mouth, let it be for screaming." He says, pressing the point of the poker against the underside of Abe's chin. Abraham was still breathing heavily, reeling from the intense pain in his hand. "I can tell you've wanted me dead for a very long time." He says softly, his voice high as usual. Abraham swallowed, trying to work up enough strength to speak.

"You'll pay for this. You'll never-" He yells again in pain as the Captain pulled the poker away and slammed the end of it across his nose. He could hear the bones and cartilage crunch as he struck it. Simcoe watched blood pour from the man's nose; split open from the brutal hit, staining his clothes and slowly soaking through them. It filled him with satisfaction as he watched the crimson liquid cascade down to the floor. He could already smell it in the air, metallic and sharp.

"You see, as beasts; we make a promise that one will stand, and one will fall." The Captain smirks as he listens to Abe groan loudly in pain. "I'm glad you let out your screams." Simcoe adds, smirking deviously. The Farmer glared back at him, pure hate in his expression. "There is no shame in screaming. A beast has no shame in howling when its wounded." He explains, his eyes dark with bloodlust. Abe snarls, spitting out blood that had trickled into his mouth at Simcoe.

"Fuck you." Abraham cursed, his eyes flowing with tears as he looked up at the Captain. Simcoe tilts his head, taking away the fire poker and setting it back on the table. He looked over the choice of weapons he had selected for himself, all of these effective and brutal ways of killing. Abraham was not eager to see them, leaning back in his chair if only to get as far away from him as possible.

"That kind of language is only going to get you punished Abraham. Surely you must know that." He says softly, smirking as he picked up a small knife he had found tucked in Abraham's sleeve. "This look familiar?" He asks sarcastically, grinning as he walked closer and raised the blade toward his cheek.

"Shut up and... And do it." Abraham pleaded, squirming as he tried to ignore the pain in his head. He just wanted it to be over, for the pain and suffering to stop. Simcoe hums, raising the knife to Abe's left ear, pressing the edge of the blade against where it was connected to his head. He raised it up, cutting into his earlobe. Abe winced, holding his breath as Simcoe pulled on his ear firmly.

"You know my ear still pains me from time to time. But not because it hasn't healed. It's the pain of knowing someone got so close to killing me. Had it been an inch over, I would have surely perished." He pulls harder, making Abraham grit his teeth. "I couldn't hear right for days, and sometimes it still rings." He suddenly slashes the knife upward as he pulled, severing the ear from his head. Abraham wailed with anguish, squirming in his chair as his ear bled profusely. Simcoe looked at it, bending the severed ear in his hand; paying no mind to the fact that Abraham was hollering with pain.

"I think I'll keep this is a memento." He gives Abraham a cheeky grin, setting the ear on the table with the weapons. Abraham glowers up at Simcoe, his eyes red and puffy from crying. "Oh don't look so glum. I'm sure a few of your friends will join you in hell soon enough. Who knows, maybe if this war keeps heading where it is, all the patriots you know will be extinguished as well." He says darkly, an excited fire blazing in his eyes. He was hungry for blood, eager to see Abe's skin pale as his precious lifeblood was drained. Abraham huffs, glancing at the knife; wishing he had pulled it out when Simcoe had pinned him to the wall.

"The Continental army will find a way to defeat you and the regulars. It's only a matter of time. Especially with the intelligence-" He cuts himself off as Simcoe presses the blade to his arm; the tip piercing the fabric and threatening to pierce his skin. He exchanged a look with the Captain, trying to swallow the lump of dread building in his throat.

"I am not scared of a coward like you. Men like you are weak. Maybe you are viewed as strong physically, but I see the truth." He stares into Abraham's eyes, a crazed grin spread across his face. Abraham's face twisted with anger, finding his courage again.

"Men like you are weak for the reason 'men like me' are strong. We have bloody compassion!" Abe growls. Simcoe tilts his head, pushing the blade into his flesh, making the smaller man grit his teeth, sucking in air through them.

"There are no men like me." Simcoe responds, driving the knife even deeper into the bicep of Abraham's arm. The Farmer groans, squirming in the chair as Simcoe split his flesh and muscle.

"There are always men like you." Abe growls back, hissing as the blade scraped the bone. Simcoe pulled the blade out, and used the bloody knife to cut off Abraham's shirt. He tossed the useless fabric aside, and got closer with the knife, pressing the edge against his pec.

"No. Not exactly like me. You see I enjoy this Abraham." He smirks, gliding it down his skin, a little trail of red following it from the blood still on the blade. Abraham's breath caught in his throat; suppressing a shudder as he looked down at the blade, then back up at Simcoe. "I delight in hearing every last scream or whimper. And I savor every last expression your face contorts into. I will cherish this particular encounter for as long as I live." He grins wildly, his eyes almost unblinking. He didn't want to miss a single moment. 

"Hopefully that won't be long." Abraham snaps back, screaming again as the dagger pierced his gut; his voice dying in his throat as his breath was sucked from him. The sensation was cold and almost seemed to drain his very soul. Simcoe was tempted to twist the blade, but didn't want this to end too soon. He tugged the dagger out, watching the blood start to flow from the wound. Now the clock was ticking more rapidly. Abraham's skin was now starting to noticeably pale. 

"It seems you aren't going to last too much longer." He smirks, swapping the spies blade for his treasured bayonet. Abraham looked fearful now, his brow furrowing again, as Simcoe raised the blade and examined it.

He took a moment to pause and study the bayonet, watching the light reflecting off of it glisten and shimmer as he tilted it in his hands. This blade had taken many lives. It had drawn so much blood. And now, he could add Abraham's blood to that collection. He loved the way blood flowed from a wound. In pulses it would drip or gush, painting surfaces and flesh with crimson. He was disappointed that he would never get this experience again with Abraham. This would be the last time he would have any pleasure from scaring him, or hurting him. It would be delicious. Satisfying, like crushing a leaf beneath his boot. 

"I am going to savor this as long as I can. I'm sure you understand. This will be the first and last chance I have." He bites the inside of his lip, drawing nearer with the serrated blade. "Do you know why I prefer a serrated blade Abraham?" Excitement fluttered in the Captain's chest. He felt light, his breath quickening slightly as he held the handle more firmly. Abraham couldn't answer, his breath still lost from the stab in the gut so he simply shook his head. Fear was in his eyes, shining and beautiful; glistening with tears. It was glorious. A final plea for life, in silence.

"Stab it in!" He suddenly pierces his core with the blade, making Abe gasp and clench up. He was breathing heavily now, shaking as he struggled to scream from the pain. It was so sudden, the agony flooding his chest and fogging his thoughts. All he knew was the pain and the devilish look on Simcoe's face. Fear. Fear as Simcoe's eyes lit up with glee and excitement. He knew what was about to happen. The savage side of Simcoe had finally been unleashed. 

"Twist the blade!" Simcoe yanks the handle to the side, ripping into his flesh and hooking it. Abraham screams, the bloodcurdling discord silencing every creature nearby. The only sounds were Simcoe's ragged and excited breathing, and Abrahams cries of torment. Blood was already flowing from the fatal wound, trickling down his belly and soaking his breeches. 

"And pull the intestines, right out." He growls finally, yanking the blade out; blood splattering his chest and arms. He watched at Abraham's chest heaved, the organs not hooked onto the blade as he might have hoped. Abraham was starting to look sickly, his skin even more pale than usual and his breathing more shallow. Blood was pouring from the wound, pooling on the floor in sticky puddles. 

"Hm, they didn't hook like I'd hoped. Let's fix that." He purrs, sounding overly excited; his voice even more shrill and horrifying. Abraham could only watch as Simcoe suddenly stabbed him again, this time lower in the gut, and to the center. His body jerked, but he hardly could scream. He just wanted to die. He was shivering now, the cold blanket of death starting to wash over him. He only hoped that it would cover him and drag him into unconsciousness. The pain was starting to fade, his eyelids fluttering as the ocean of blood on the floor widened, moving past Simcoe's boots. He hardly noticed as Simcoe yanked the blade out, taking his organs with it. Simcoe shook them off, finally winding up a final swing. He drove the blade into Abraham's heart, delighting at the rewarding sound of the blade pushing into flesh and scraping against bone. Abraham could only feel the pressure and sickening scraping.

Abraham felt his heart slowly stop, and his life fade with it; the light of the room dimming as he fell into the abyss.

Simcoe watched as Abraham's eyes faded, a final breath escaping his motionless body. His limbs relaxed, and the pulsing blood stopped, now trickling out. Simcoe could hardly care, yanking the blade out and stabbing him again, and again, and again. He didn't stop until Abraham's chest was hardly recognizable as that anymore. An amalgamation of flesh, bone, and blood. 

He looked back up at Abe’s dull eyes, the color faded from them. A warmth of pride filled his chest, and he laughed softly; gazing down at the blood coating his bayonet. He brought it to his lips and licked one side of the blade, grinning as the taste of blood filled his mouth. It was metallic and cold, but still it thrilled him. 

This had been a good day. He had finally achieved what he had wanted from the start of meeting and getting to know this man; to kill him. But now the fun was over, and his body was getting cold. Now he wished Abraham was still alive so he could hear him plead or scream, one last time. Oh well. The deed was done, and his cold heart was warm. 

He craved more. Hungered for the feeling of taking another’s life. Starved for the feeling of warm blood on his hands. Lusted for the sounds of agony and despair. But most of all, he yearned for the begging. The begging for their life. All of it was delicious. He could almost feel the chest of his next victim rising and falling with their breath and beat of their heart. He backed away from the lifeless body in the chair, smiling as he wiped his bayonet off on a stray shirt. 

“See you in hell.” John says softly, grinning. He knew what he did. But he didn’t care. He loved every part of killing, and most people knew that.

He pauses as he hears commotion outside, quickly tucking himself somewhere more hidden as he listens to the footsteps drawing closer. Maybe someone had heard Abraham’s screams. His ears perked as the door was opened, and a man ambled in. He heard them gasp, then stagger backwards, supporting themself on a table. They cried softly, and let out sobs of anguish. Simcoe recognized the voice, a flutter of excitement in his chest. Another enemy. Another person he was eager to kill. Another plaything.

Caleb Brewster.

Simcoe stepped into the room, his arms and chest still splattered with blood. Caleb saw him and his heart dropped. The man was almost frozen. He knew he should run, get away. But Simcoe made no moves to attack. He was waiting. Biding his time to strike. Caleb swallows, still shaking.

“Ah shite.”


	2. A Debt Repaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe was surprised, and yet delighted to get a visit from Caleb Brewster, still covered in his friends blood. He's very excited to get revenge on his former captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not experienced in writing this sort of thing, nor is it particularly enjoyable, it's just kinda something to write when I'm bored.

Simcoe could feel the tension in the air. His heart was pounding again, pumping blood to his heart; which was light with adrenaline. Caleb was still shaken from seeing his friend dead in front of him. He had tears in his eyes, and his breath was quick. Grief was interfering with his fight or flight.

"You know, this seems fitting. Instead of you catching me in a trap, I've finally got you in a snare." He slowly walked around him, blocking his path to the door. Caleb's breath was shaking. He didn't want to speak; he felt like he might cry. Simcoe could feel excitement welling in his chest. "What's the matter? Cat caught your tongue?" He laughs under his breath. Caleb's expression showed a touch of anger, his lip curling and his brows furrowing. Simcoe only laughed again, tightening his grip on his bayonet. He could see the Lieutenant's muscles tensing; readying for an attack. He wanted to avenge his friend. 

How touching...

How foolish.

"You know, he lasted quite long for the wounds I inflicted. Never passed out from pain." He grins devilishly, watching the man's expression harden more. He was absolutely seething now, his face flushing red. 

Let the hate in. Fight me.

"You killed Abe in cold blood... You bastard." He growled through gritted teeth. He still stood his ground, his breath quick. Simcoe holds his blade up.

"Perhaps. You know, his blood tasted quite good for someone like him." He teased, bringing his blade to his tongue and licking it. There was only a hint of his taste left. Wait, there was more! He pulled the blade away from his mouth to look at it, only to find that he had cut his own tongue on it. His blood dripped down the shining blade, and out of his mouth. "Clumsy me." He purrs. Caleb recoils in disgust, taking a few steps back.

"You're insane." He huffs, glancing at the window. Simcoe immediately saw the gears turning in his head. 

He’s thinking of running.

"Don't try it." He warns. Caleb gulped, bolting for the window. Simcoe smirks, immediately going for the table beside him and grabbing his pistol from it. Caleb crashed through the window, glass shattering and scattering across the floor. Simcoe jumped out of the window after Caleb, aiming his pistol at him carefully. He was hardly far away. He could get him from this distance. He held his breath, grinning as he aimed lower. 

If he can't move, he can't run.

He fired his pistol, grinning as he saw the wound blossom red in the center of Caleb's lower back. He screamed, his legs suddenly giving out. He laughs softly as he stalked forward, watching the man try to claw away from him. He tsks as he reaches him, taunting him as he grabbed his legs and started dragging him back toward the house.

"I told you not to try it. You should have listened. Your chances would have been better had you tried to fight me. Now you're simply a coward who tried to run." He grins, only half listening to Calebs screams. He struggling with his upper body and arms, clawing at the ground and trying to wriggle free from his grasp; ripping up grass and dirt. He knew it was futile, but still he had to try. This was no place to die. By his friend; his body still warm to the touch. Simcoe kept out of his reach, carefully not to let him grab him. Caleb was wondering in his head; How could this happen? Was this real? Was this a sick nightmare?

"Fuck you, ya crazy bastard!" He spat, still desperately trying to fight him. Simcoe dragged him over to a table, grabbing some rope and grabbing Caleb's wrists. He bound him to the table leg as quickly as he could, grinning as the man squirmed and cursed with what control of his body he had left.

"Be quiet and hold still, you aren’t going anywhere." He growled, glaring down at Caleb with a menacing stare. 

“No! With every breath that I have, I will fight! I will never stop! Until I wake up, or I’m dead!” He screams. Simcoe tilts his head, humming as he looked down at Caleb’s useless legs. 

“Well, if this was a dream, you’d feel this.” He steps on Caleb’s foot, putting his full weight on it. The Whaler swallowed, his demeanor faltering a bit. His jaw clenched. Even if somehow he survived this, he would never have the same life.

Now you realize the trouble you’re in, don't you?

“I will never give up. If I have any chance to irritate or curse you, I’m taking it. Because as long as my heart is beating, I’m doing what I can to fuck you over.” He growls, spitting at Simcoe. The Captain flinches as it hits the side of his face. He snarls in disgust, wiping it off with his sleeve as he glared at Caleb. 

“I suppose I’ll have to make this quick then.” He says, his voice lofty as usual. He sets his gun aside, grinning as he took up his bayonet again. “I’m sure you saw what I did to Abraham.” He says softly. Caleb’s breath hitched as he tried not to imagine it. He could see Abe’s body from where he was, though he was turned away. The Whaler stayed silent, looking down at his feet. 

Simcoe hums, walking over to the chair that still held Abe. He turned it to face Caleb, smiling as he heard the smaller man take a deep breath and squeeze his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t want to look at his friend. Abe’s skin was pale as a ghost, the blood from his wounds was congealed, his body slumped over in a lifeless heap. 

“This is what happens to traitors that cross my path. Well... I didn’t exactly have proof. Still, if you were planning on visiting him, surely my assumption is correct.” Simcoe reasons. Caleb looked up at him with venom in his gaze. His stare pierced through Simcoe. Of course the Captain didn’t seem to care. 

“Not talking I see. And here I thought you wouldn’t shut up.” He says, kneeling down and pressing the blade to the Whaler’s leg. He met Caleb’s gaze, watching him intently as he slowly pushed the blade deep into his leg, away from any main arteries. Caleb didn’t flinch, though his brows furrowed with a mix of fear and uncertainty. “Well, at least you won’t feel some of the pain. But you’ll feel your life draining. Slowly.” He grins sickeningly, pulling the blade from his leg. He watched the serrated edge rip at his flesh on the way out. Caleb’s inhales, trying to drown out the sound of blood and flesh squelching.

“Shut up...” He huffed. Simcoe chuckles, grazing the tip of the blade up his leg and stomach. 

I wonder where he’ll feel this. 

“You know, I do wonder where you’ll start feeling this...” He went slow, waiting for Caleb’s breath to hitch, or his stomach tense. Caleb’s breath quickened; Simcoe could only smile. Caleb knew he was in for it now. The Captain was going to make his remaining time a living hell.

“Shut up and kill me you bastard.” He spat angrily. Simcoe laughs softly, grinning as he pressed the blade against his soft belly.

“Now why would I do that while we have so much time? No one can hear us out here.” He says softly, his voice deceptively sweet. Caleb’s throat was getting sore now, holding back tears and sobs of fear. He was scared, just as anyone else would be.

Simcoe slowly pressed the blade in, Caleb’s breath quickening as his skin gave. His could feel the blade about to pierce. Simcoe stopped, examining the fear in Caleb’s eyes.

“You know, there’s no shame in screaming.” He purred. Caleb’s throat let out a small whimper without his consent. Simcoe only smiles again, laughing as he shoved the blade in. 

“GHHH!!” Caleb groaned loudly, gritting his teeth as his body tensed. Pain blossomed in his core, fiery and intense. It pulsed with the beat of his heart. At the same time it was cold, the breath sucked from him. Blood oozed from the wound, dripping down his stomach while Simcoe simply watched. He found it glorious. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” He asks, smirking. 

“Shut your mouth you bastard!” Caleb finally yelled at him, his voice strained and cracking from the pain. Simcoe was pleasantly surprised, grinning insanely.

“Heh! Now you scream at me? Is my talking more agony than the blade?” He smirks, twisting it in Caleb’s gut. The Whaler tensed, growling loudly in pain. Pain throbbed there, the most intense he had ever felt. Simcoe chuckles, watching the blood stream down. 

“Maybe you should have picked a different side. All of this could have been avoided.” He reasons again. Caleb huffs, looking down at the bayonet still in his gut. The inevitability of it being yanked out was making his heart rate soar. 

“Sh-shut up or kill me...” He huffed again. Simcoe tilts his head, tightening his grip on his blade and suddenly ripping it free. He grinned at the sound of ripping flesh, his eyes light with a crazed hunger from Caleb’s agonized scream. 

“Oh I will. Don’t you worry.~” He purrs softly, getting closer to Caleb’s face. Simcoe growls, plunging the blade into Caleb’s side. He could feel it grind against the bone, Caleb’s screaming ringing in his ears. He was losing himself to the screams that poured from Caleb’s mouth. 

More, More!

He ripped the blade out, laughing maniacally as he watched the blood and gore pour from the wound. Caleb screams, making the Captain's heart pound with adrenaline. He grabbed Caleb’s hair, yanking his head back as he pressed the blade to his throat. Simcoe bit his lip, the taste of his own blood still heavy in his mouth as he prepared to draw the bayonet across his throat. The Whaler's voice was hoarse now, incoherent and shattered. 

The Captain finally sliced the blade across Caleb’s throat, blood spattering his face and chest. The smaller man let out a choked noise, air escaping from the fatal gash as he tried to breath. Blood bubbled from the gash, spraying Simcoe. He could only laugh as Caleb gurgled, slowly losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen to his brain. With the arteries no longer pumping blood to his brain, he was fading. 

Finally Simcoe sank the blade into Caleb’s chest, his eyes wide and crazed for more blood and gore. He wallowed in the feeling, his adrenaline peaking as he watched the life fade from Caleb’s body. He suddenly stilled, twitching and spasming for a moment, his body reflexively trying to breath, even as his heart stopped. 

The Captain huffs, sitting there, absentmindedly yanking the blade out and watching as blood poured from the final wound. 

He realized that Caleb was dead now, his voice no longer filling his ears. He must have blacked out for a moment. He chuckles softly, a little relieved that he was silent.

He was annoying. 

“Say hello to Abe for me.” He purred, standing and looking down at his work. The smell of blood and feeling of tension were still heavy in the air. He looked down at his body, seeing the blood on his arms and chest. He could feel some stiffening on his face. He smiles. 

I wish I could wear it forever. 

He sighs softly, taking his bayonet and walking into Abraham’s room, where there was a basin of water. He dunked his hands into the water, washing off the blood from his arms as well. The water turned pink as he washed and scrubbed away the blood, washing his face as well. He needed to appear sane and clean if he was to appear before anyone. He peered into the cheap mirror they had, smiling at his reflection. 

Handsome. It’s a wonder how you haven’t found a permanent woman yet.

He paused at the thought. Was he just thinking in 3rd person? 

Absurd. Why would I think like that? Likely just a passing moment. 

It was his own voice in his head, so he was confused. He brushed it off. Likely just an effect from the leftover adrenaline. He would have to pay Hewlett a little visit. Now that was an Idea! That would make everything complete! Then perhaps he could finally have more control over Setauket. 

Yes. That would be perfect!


	3. The Better Of Two Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe runs into someone unexpected on the way to Whitehall, but he couldn't be more delighted to have it be their last encounter.

Simcoe headed out on his horse, who was more than a little unsettled at the violence that had happened at Abe's cabin. The screaming and smell of blood had made it skittish. Though, this was understandable. Animals like horses were aware of things like this, and avoided them. He paid it no mind, urging his horse onward toward Whitehall. It wouldn't be a long ride there, but long enough for the adrenaline to calm. To Simcoe, that was already too long. He needed to satisfy his lust for blood by killing one last person; Edmund Hewlett. Then he would finally be satisfied. That would be enough to make him content. At least, it would have to be. There would be no way for him to hide that many murders, especially as brutal as they were. It would all be traced back to him, and he would have to be content with what he had done. 

I'm alright with that. That will be my final act.

He nods to himself, looking ahead on the path. He imagined what he would do to Hewlett; all the things he could remove to humiliate him, what tools he would use. So many options, perhaps not so much time to do any of it. Maybe-

His thoughts suddenly screeched to a halt as his horse got startled by a snake crossing the path. He gasps as his horse reared back, causing him to fall off. He shields himself, curling up just in case his horse stepped back and stepped on him. Thankfully, he seemed to have gotten lucky. He sat up, looking at the snake in the grass. A simple gardener snake. Harmless. He sighs loudly.

Dumb horse. Doesn't it know it could kill that snake with a single stomp of its hooves?

He got up and brushed himself off, looking around for his horse. She had ran off into the woods, and still seemed quite upset, braying and whinnying as she paced around. He wrinkles his nose with discontent, shaking his head as he carefully approached his horse, not too fast as to startle her more. He stopped as he heard a quiet crunch of leaves. A thought shot into his head.

You should duck.

Simcoe quickly ducked and covered himself behind a tree. Just at that moment, he heard a gunshot, and the bullet whizzed past him. He felt a rush of adrenaline make his body light with rage and excitement. He took a breath, pulling his pistol and cocking it. He had it loaded and ready to go. Now the question was who was firing at him. He took a quick peek around his cover, quickly pulling back as he spotted the barrel of a musket. Another gunshot fired off, this bullet whizzed past his ear. He let out a huff.

This person is going to die. Slow, and painfully.

He grinned at the thought. Just a little more fun before his final act. Now, he was willing to bet that this man only had two loaded weapons. He didn't see a horse anywhere with more weapons. But he had to go now before the man had a chance to reload. He took another deep breath and rushed out from his cover, heading towards where he had seen the muzzle of the gun. He smirks as he spots the man behind the shots. Without thinking, he raised his pistol, and fired, hitting the large burly man in the shoulder.

His ears pricked up as he recognized the voice behind the howl of pain. It was a deep, gruff voice, one with an accent. He knew exactly who this was. He had nearly killed him once, blinded him in one eye. 

Robert Rogers, we meet again, one final time.

He pulled out his bayonet, kicking away Rogers pistol and musket as he pointed his blade at the larger man. Roger glared at him, a scowl on his face as stared up at Simcoe. Unfortunately the circumstances wouldn't allow him as much time as he would like for this. He couldn't enjoy this one as much as Abraham or Caleb. This was to the side of a main road. Anyone could come at any time, and hear or see the commotion.

"You know I had hoped that we would meet again. I just hoped it was somewhere more private, where I could have a bit more time for some fun." Simcoe says with a smirk. Rogers scoffs at this, scowling.

"You really think yourself better than me, eh boy?" He asks, about to reach for his waist when Simcoe pressed the tip of his blade to Rogers throat. He wasn't going to take any chances at being bested by this man. Not when he had already escaped him once. Simcoe only smiled, pressing the tip firmly against Roger's neck, but not enough to pierce through quite yet.

"I know I'm better than you Rogers. You had two chances to kill me, and still you didn't manage to. Why didn't you shoot me when I had fallen from my horse?" He asks, tilting his head curiously. Rogers didn't respond, continuing to stare at the Captain. Simcoe chuckles softly. "I see, you hadn't thought of that? What an idiotic thing to do. Place a snake in the road and not bother to follow through with the most obvious option of killing your adversary? Pathetic." He growls. Rogers sneers.

"I'm not like you. You're a monster who kills without thought nor reason. You're the pathetic one." He retorts. Simcoe clenches his jaw.

"No. You're not like me. I'm better than you. I'm simply the stronger of two men. Smarter, stronger, faster. You could never kill me." He quickly thrusts his blade through Rogers neck, grinning devilishly at the spray of blood when he tugged the blade out, Rogers breath escaping. Simcoe stepped back, watching the man struggle while blood spurted between his fingers, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

What a fool. That's a fatal wound. Just let your pathetic life end already.

A smile crept across his face as he watched Rogers skin grow pale, and his eyes slowly lose the life in them. It was strange, in a way. How humans and animals clung to life so desperately, even if they knew the threat of death was inevitable, and fast approaching. He hums softly, getting closer to Rogers carefully, looking into his eyes.

"Just let it happen. All you're doing is prolonging your sad, miserable existence." He says with a bitter tone. Rogers sneered, spitting at him. Simcoe dodged it, he had expected this. He already had blood on the cuff of his sleeve, but he didn't need more on his uniform. After all, he had just washed it at Abraham's cabin. Simcoe stands back, so Roger wouldn't get any bright ideas about making a final last ditch effort at wounding or killing him. As he looked down at his uniform, he saw some specks of blood, and he sighs. "Shame, you got blood on me. What's a little more to sell my story of a would be mugger?" He asks rhetorically. Rogers had fallen back on the forest floor, looking up at Simcoe weakly as he drew his loaded pistol.

Rogers kept his gaze locked on Simcoe as he pulled the trigger. Rogers fell still as the bullet pierced his head, splattering blood onto Simcoe's uniform. He grinned with pride, the smile drawn across his lips was a rare sight.

You'll show that smile to Hewlett, won't you?

Yes. Yes I will.


	4. Retribution Without Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simcoe finally has the opportunity to kill his rival, Major Edmund Hewlett. He has no reason to rush this. He wants to savor the screams, and the warm spray of blood on his skin. This is his final act.

Simcoe stopped his horse in front of Whitehall, sighing softly as he looked up at the grand home. He knew Major Hewlett was billeted inside, likely on the second floor. He looked down at his blood spattered clothes, deciding his story would be about a mugger who had foolishly tried to ambush him and rob him. A good enough story to not be taken too seriously. That's what he hoped anyway. He walked up the steps to the door, knocking a couple times. He waited patiently, unsure who would come to the door. He supposed it didn't matter, as long as it wasn't Hewlett. 

The door opened, and Simcoe was mildly surprised to see Hewlett. The Major hid his surprise well, though he swallowed nervously, clearly alarmed at the state of Simcoe's clothes. He eyed the blood, his brow furrowing. 

"Captain Simcoe... Why are you covered in blood? And- why are you here?" He asks nervously, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to ask the question without having a nervous breakdown. He didn't want to admit he was incredibly uneasy around him. There was an aura of darkness around the Captain that Hewlett couldn't describe. Simcoe blinks.

"A foolish mugger. I slew him where he stood. May I come in? There's something I wished to discuss with you. In private." He insists. The Major swallows again, considering his options. The Captain likely wouldn't take no for answer. He stepped aside to let Simcoe in. As the larger man walked in, Hewlett couldn't help but plan defenses, just in case something were to snap within his rival. An escape would be foolish. He couldn't possibly hide from him. The only option of victory... no... the only possibility of victory between him and the Captain, was catching him off guard. Finding a way to outwit or surprise him was his only chance. But if he didn't kill him in that moment, he was as good as dead. He reminded himself that he had a knife hidden in his uniform. His unfortunate scuffle with the Captain while he was in captivity had shown him the use of a concealed weapon. However, Simcoe likely expected this.

"And what did you need to discuss? Covered in blood?" He asks quietly. Simcoe looked at him thoughtfully. What could he propose to let Hewlett's guard down? A truce between their forces perhaps? Men had disappeared from his ranks, and Hewlett's men were hostile toward his own. A truce would only make sense.

"An impasse." He answers simply. Edmund blinks in surprise, looking at him warily as he began walking toward the steps.

"A truce? Forgive me, but I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would want an end to conflict." He spat. A touch out of character, but he was bitter. After everything that had happened, he would dare suggest a truce? Simcoe nods, letting a hint of a smile show as he put out his hand for a handshake.

"I know. But I want you to know that I wish no further harm to you or your men. Though... I think we should have our agreement in writing." He says softly. The Major was surprised yet again, glancing down at his hand warily before looking back up at Simcoe. This interaction was only getting stranger and stranger. He had to wonder if this was some weird dream after he dozed off reading a book or something. The Captain looks down at his outstretched hand. "Do you not want a truce, Major?" He asks, the lofty tone in his voice dropping an octave. This sent a chill down Hewlett's spine. A prickle of dread seeded itself in the back of his skull. He quickly accepted the handshake, looking up at Simcoe as bravely as he could, making sure his grip was firm. 

"Of course I do. I don't wish to lose more men, and I'm sure you don't either. It's in both of our interests for a truce, is it not? Two forces on the same side, fighting... It's just a waste of energy and blood." He says softly. Simcoe nods.

"I couldn't agree more. Shall we go to your office and write out a document? A treaty, if you will." He smiles slightly. Hewlett nods, still nervous around the Captain, but feeling less threatened. 

"Right... Still, it surprised me when you happened to show up just as Richard left for the market... It's odd being here by myself..." He admits with a sigh. Simcoe's heart leapt to his throat. They were alone? He could feel his pulse quicken, and adrenaline flow to his extremities. The urge to lash out was immense. One quick pull of his blade... 

I must wait. 

He reminded himself, following Hewlett up the steps toward his study. The steps creaked under their weight, but Simcoe hardly noticed. The one thing on his mind was feeling his rival's warm blood on his face, while he ripped and sliced him to pieces. 

Hewlett was still tense, opening the door to his room and walking in. Simcoe looked around the room, surveying his surroundings carefully. Possible hazards, weapons, things that would bring him an advantage, or disadvantage. The environment was an important part of battle. To ignore it, was to ignore one of the things that could bring him victory, or death. He nodded in approval.

"You have a nice room. I wish I such nice quarters." He says softly, looking at the bookshelf and various paintings/decorations around the room. He couldn't help but be a little jealous. Hewlett nods, taking a seat at his desk and pulling out a sheet of parchment. He looked back at Simcoe as he uncorked his ink bottle.

"Well, Richard was rather kind with letting me have this room. I would have picked another had he shown discomfort." He says softly, taking his quill pen and dipping it in the ink. Simcoe watched him begin to write with interest, finding his handwriting interesting and mesmerizing. It bobbed up and down across the page like waves.

*This document is written proof of a truce between Major Edmund Hewlett, and Captain John Graves Simcoe, including the men under their command. Should harm come to either side by the other party, a punishment will be agreed upon by both parties, and carried out.*

He wrote this large so it took up the entire page. He then signed his name, and looked up at the Captain as he got up and offered him the pen. Simcoe looked down at the quill, taking it gently. He silently wondered when would be the right moment to strike. After he signed the treaty, Hewlett's guard would likely be down. He leaned over the desk, as opposed to sitting down. He didn't want be vulnerable even for the short amount of time that it would take to sign his name. He signed his name, and set down the pen, turning back toward Hewlett.

"There. We have it in writing." He puts out his hand again for another handshake. Hewlett knew something was up. He could still feel something wrong with the way the Captain was acting. This wasn't like him, he thought nervously. He still had little to no reason to trust the Captain. Not to mention the fact that he had come into Whitehall splattered with blood. Simcoe hums, putting his hand down and stepping back toward the door. Hewlett's heart sank as Simcoe pushed the door shut. The Captain was done beating around the bush. 

It's time to strike.

He quickly lunged forward, grabbing Hewlett by the throat and wrestling him to the floor. Hewlett gasps, adrenaline flooding his system as he instinctively tried to pry Simcoe's hands from his throat, kicking and thrashing violently. Simcoe had a death grip, cutting off his air, and the blood pumping to his brain. He ignored the pain of Hewlett's attempts to hurt him. Hewlett could feel the telltale tingling in his head. He had to do something now. 

Quickly remembering the knife he had concealed, he reached down to his pants, pulling the knife free and quickly stabbing him in the most vulnerable place he could reach. 

Simcoe howled in pain as the blade buried into his chest. He reflexively let go, pushing Hewlett away from him as he clutched at the wound, blood spurting between his fingers. Hewlett was gasping for breath, scrambling backward. He fumbled his way to his feet, grabbing a gun from his desk drawer, cocking it.

Simcoe gritted his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his eyes blazing with fury. His gaze pierced into Hewlett, glaring him down. He growled in anger.

"The same... damn trick..." He curses, coughing up blood as he stumbled into the desk. 

This is it? This is how I die?

I suppose it is. 

Hewlett sighs softly, rubbing his neck as he pointed his pistol as Simcoe's head. Simcoe could only glare at him. He had little choice in this matter. He could charge and get shot, or stay here, and get shot. Blood continued to pour out from his wound, pooling on the floor. The Major sighs, his breath shaky.

"I did wish for a truce John. Though... I must say, you were the first to break it." He points out. Simcoe scoffs, coughing up more blood out of his lungs, some of the crimson liquid dribbling down his chin.

"I was going to kill you... but you pulled the same damn trick..." He huffs, looking up at Hewlett with disbelief. He was having trouble breathing; his breath sounding sickly and full of fluid. The Major nods.

"I can't afford to die, so I took measures against it. You could've just shot me, but I knew you'd want a more... Intimate death for me." He says with a sigh. Simcoe swallows, knowing what he said was true. He didn't want to admit it, but that it what he had hoped for. He just didn't expect for things to turn out like this.

"I did. I wanted it with my every breath. I killed Abraham, I killed Caleb Brewster, I killed Robert Rogers... And I had hoped to end it with you. Clearly I underestimated you. And that was my fatal mistake..." He coughs again, gritting his teeth at the pain. Hewlett was surprised at the Captain's confession, his brow furrowing as he realized the extent of his homicide.

"You could never tame that beast inside you, hm? That voice in your head telling you to kill?" He asks. Simcoe let a hint of surprise cross his expression. The voice in his head? "It doesn't matter... For now, we need to agree on your punishment for breaking the truce. Seeing as a hanging would take too long... Execution by pistol?" He asks. Simcoe huffs, spitting out more blood. He was angry of course. But the blood loss was making his consciousness quickly fade. No. He couldn't allow that. If he was going to die, it would be on his terms. He reached down to his side, slowly unsheathing his bayonet. Hewlett's grip tightened on his pistol. Simcoe gently held the serrated blade, offering the handle to Hewlett. This caught the Major by surprise.

"No. What honor is there in being shot, like some rabid dog..?" He outstretched his arm, still offering his blade. The Major sighs, glancing down at the blade.

"No tricks?" He asks bitterly. Simcoe shakes his head, still offering the bayonet. He was clinging onto consciencness desperately now. He wanted Hewlett's eyes to be the last thing he saw, as his own blade was pierced through his heart. 

"No tricks." More blood trickled from his mouth as he said this, swallowing again. Hewlett started to approach slowly, before quickly lunging forward and grabbing the blade and pulling back. The serrated blade cut Simcoe's fingers, but the Captain didn't seem to care. Simcoe glared at him.

Come on you coward. Kill me already. 

Hewlett almost seemed to realize what he was thinking, kneeling down and holding the blade with a firm grip. He seemed quite disturbed by the Captain's state. Simcoe looked into Hewlett's eyes, wanting this to be the last thing he saw. The Major gave him a respectful nod, raising the blade.

"Goodbye." He says his farewell, before quickly and fiercely plunging the blade into his adversaries chest. Simcoe gritted his teeth, letting out a choked scream as he felt the blade scrape his bones, and pierce his heart. He convulsed a few times, his conscience quickly deteriorating now. His vision was fading, and his his sense of pain was going with it. A serene calm washed over him as he looked into the Major's deep brown eyes.

This is it... 

He thought, his vision fading to black.

I hope you will carry the meaning of my demise with you. You're stronger than I thought. 

***

Hewlett swallowed as he saw Simcoe's eyes grow dull, his body growing still as one final breath was released. He quickly backed off, looking down at the blood on his uniform. He sighs, wiping off his hands with a handkerchief before looking back down at the Captain. It was odd to see him this still, and lifeless. The typical state he saw him in, his eyes looked through him. But now they stared onward, devoid of any remaining hatred. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit of contempt.

"Good riddance."


End file.
